Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,69
about that. I think the urge is gone now. Besides, your mother thinks I’m enough of an annoyance without me talking about a crime novel.”
“She’d probably love for you to have a hobby.” And get out of her space, I thought. But she wasn’t exactly the encouraging type (unless your name was Juliet Elizabeth Frost).
“Well. I’m very proud of you, Sadie. Not everyone is brave enough to go for it, and here you are. My fierce little girl, making it in the Big Apple.”
No one else felt that way. No one had said they were proud of me in a long, long time. Noah used to, but not anymore, not if it meant me staying here. Our love for each other was becoming a clenched fist of frustration and uncertainty.
Love is not all you need. Don’t believe that lie.
On my twenty-fifth birthday, Noah called. “I need to see you,” he said, and it didn’t sound promising. We weren’t a couple, not really, not in his eyes, and yet we weren’t not a couple. I gathered we were about to come to a conclusion.
When I saw him in Grand Central Station, my old love for him hit me like a wave, tumbling me in its force. I still loved him. I’d always love him. And when he saw me, his face softened just a little, an almost smile there on his lips. He never could grow a proper beard, but he looked sixteen if he shaved, and it was so . . . so endearing. My heart glowed that scarlet color that only Noah could bring.
“Hey, stranger,” I said, and gave him a big hug. We hadn’t seen each other in months, and he seemed bigger—broader shoulders, more muscle, and there was a sudden lump in my throat at the idea that my wild boy was now a man.
He wanted to go to a nearby restaurant and “get this out of the way.”
“Sure thing,” I said, nervousness and irritability fluttering in my stomach. I took him to a tourist-trap Irish pub just across the street, and we ordered beers and burgers. He could barely look at me.
So there was someone else, I guessed, and for a minute, I had to bend my head so I wouldn’t cry.
“How’ve you been?” I asked, my voice a little rough.
“I want you to marry me,” he said.
My head jerked back up. Not what I expected.
He was scowling.
“I want you to marry me and come home. I love you. I’ve never loved anyone but you, Sadie. But I’m not waiting anymore.”
“This sounds vaguely like a threat, not a proposal,” I said.
He didn’t answer. The waitress brought us our beers and wisely slipped away.
“Sadie . . .” He looked away. “Do you still want to get married?”
I sat back in the red booth, choosing my words carefully. “I don’t want to be with anyone but you, Noah. I love you. But I’m not sure I want the same life you do. You always had our future mapped out, and there doesn’t seem to be any room for compromise.”
“I did compromise! I lived here for four months.”
“And you hated it, just like you promised you would.”
“I can’t help that. You’re the one who sent me away.” He glowered.
“I didn’t send you away, Noah. I put you out of your misery.”
The waitress brought us our burgers. “Enjoy,” she said. We ignored her.
“Stoningham sucks the life out of some people,” I said. “I know you’re not one of them, but I am.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Thank you for being so understanding.”
He scowled.
I rolled my eyes.
“Are you happy, Sadie?” he asked.
“Yes. Mostly.” Content, maybe. Climbing my way to happiness.
“Because from here, it looks like you’re killing time. Being a teacher, doing those paintings you hate, listening to sirens and car horns all day, taking your life into your hands every time you cross the street. You gave it a shot. It didn’t work. Come home and be with me.”
My jaw clenched. “Wow. So now that I’ve failed—at least the way you define it—I should come home and marry you and get pregnant.”
He leaned forward. “I love you. Doesn’t that matter at all? Because to me, that’s everything.”
“It doesn’t sound like everything. It sounds like everything you want, with no room for me. Why can’t we be together, me in the city, you in Stoningham? Lots of people have long-distance relationships.”
“You can’t raise a family that way!”
“So that’s it? Your way, or nothing?”
“What would I tell our kids? Mommy doesn’t love you enough to live